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“Brat doesn’t know how to have fun, he’s so uptight, like he’s always got a stick up his ass.”
Jason spouted amongst Damian’s family. All somewhat agreeing, probably sharing his point of view.
And Damian was washing his hands before breakfast, cleaning them thoroughly, because hygiene was a serious matter to him. He could not be more filthy than he already was, or neglect his own image, his appearance.
Because they all had already made up their mind. For them he was ‘like this.’
So Damian, had to be ‘like that.’
So Damian was, and would always be.
He finished cleaning and finally sat down at the table, the chatter was background noise and his thoughts, the main focus. Every glance, every stare meant something unsaid:
“You’re not like us.” seemed to imply Drake’s occasional peeking.
“Such a brat.” Todd could have admitted out loud, barely hiding all the animosity in his stares.
“I’m nice to everyone, I’ll be civil to the annoyance.” Richard implied, with his soft honey smile and these eyes that dripped pity.
“He’s super annoying.” Brown was probably thinking.
“What a cocky child.” Cain thought as she ignored him plainly.
“Don’t know him that much but he’s super awkward.” Thomas possibly thought, as Damian did not know him that much. Not that it mattered.
“Disappointing.” Damian could hear Father scolding, tone cold and emotionless.
“The young master certainly needs more manners.” Pennyworth could have been realizing.
Despite the awful, demeaning thoughts swirling through his head, Damian managed to complete breakfast satisfyingly, even if every bite tasted mild at best, no offence to Pennyworth. He had been so used to the meals of Nanda Parbat, flavourful and generous in spices, that these types of breakfast tasted bland on his tongue. Though he could never admit it, as he witnessed the butler’s dedication to preparing dishes. It suited everyone’s palate, surely his opinion would not balance it out.
He just had to suck it up, get used to it. Not be a burden.
They all had been surprised when Damian had them noticed he was a vegetarian. Pennyworth had to take the proper dispositions and surely, it was a hassle. Like he was.
“Father, I am done with my breakfast, may I be excused?” He properly asked, minding his manners and even adverting his eyes. He swore he could have heard snorts erupting to his side. “Sure chum. Be sure to get your plate to Alfred.” And Damian did, bowing respectfully to the butler, who Father considered a friend, to demonstrate gratitude.
“Did he just bow to Alfred?” Drake questioned, bewildered, as his other peers barely suppressed their laughter. Weirdly, Damian began to feel hot and nervous, suddenly feeling out of place. He quickly made a run for the bathroom.
This was not how they expected him to act. Then how was he supposed to magically know? It had already been a month since he had been unceremoniously dropped to Gotham, left to be the burden of his Father and to be the annoyance of his new family.
He wanted to do good, he truly did, but how then? How was he supposed to make them understand he was useful, valuable, someone worthy of their time?
Perhaps he should start copying, being less himself. Because he wasn’t someone they seemed to appreciate. Not at all.
So Damian did.
And it did not go well.
First, he began analysing Drake. Everyone around him seemed pleased at his presence. He was going to be the perfect model. He made a list of all the traits that could help him fit in better and be loved.
Tim Drake:
-altruist
-positive thinker
-grounded
-smart
-resilient
-workaholic
Perhaps he could enhance his altruistic traits and positive thinking. First, he could offer gifts to everyone… Including Drake and Todd. People liked gifts, right? And they were people.
Damian probably has gotten a few gifts in his life, all weapons. Though he was not quite sure what his family would appreciate.
The boy began snooping around, collecting intel, clues for his mission. He needed to be methodical, precise. As the son of the Bat, Talia Al’Ghul and Heir to Ra’s Al’Ghul, nothing less was expected of him.
He made tons of researches too, using the internet. It proved to be grandly useful.
Damian used his Father’s credit card. He was a billionaire, it couldn’t matter that much if he made some minor expenses, barely denting the Wayne fortune. And to say that it was child’s play to use the man’s bank account would be an understatement. He made some purchases: a bo-staff for Drake, escrima sticks for Richard, guns for Todd, blades for Cain, another bo-staff for Brown and other escrima sticks for Thomas, (his family weren’t that original in choice of weapons).
It was the perfect gift. Efficient and useful. Damian sneaked them in each of their room once they were all occupied with personal matter.
Although, the reactions he expected were nowhere close to what reality was.
Morning came, Damian suppressed his excitement when he flew down the stairs, a small invisible smile painting his lips.
“Hey, did you put this bo-staff under my bed?” Drake asked Todd at the dinner table, curious. “No way-” Todd replied before getting cut off by Thomas.
“You got something too!” he answered.
“Me too!” Richard continued.
“Though I have to admit, whoever gave me guns clearly didn’t think that far. I’ve already got guns.” Todd said, a little disappointed. Damian felt himself flush in shame. How idiotic could he get? This had been an awful idea.
“Yeah, I got a bo-staff. I mean, it ain’t that bad, now I got 3 bo-staffs!” Brown chirped optimistically.
Damian could have listened to the positive side, though he saw clearly through the veil. His gifts were incredibly useless. He was so, so stupid. So utterly stupid.
“I got blades.” Cain neutrally chimed in.
Damian couldn’t handle the embarrassment, he rushed to his room, finding comfort near his pets, Titus and Alfred the cat. “God, never again will I have such dumb ideas.” he lamented as he covered his eyes with the palms of his hands.
“What’s with the squirt? He seemed in a rush.” Todd questioned, a bit confused. The others had no idea. They were on their way to stash these mysterious gifts back in their rooms. “I wonder who gave these to us?”
“With how generic these gifts are, I would say either Alfred or Bruce.” Richard replied rationally and everyone agreed. From a distance, Damian could feel his heart shattering.
He was really bad at being good.
He needed to try something else. He took his diary and crossed the first task he tried to accomplish, failing miserably.
Tim Drake:
-altruist
-positive thinker
-grounded
-smart
-resilient
-workaholic
Now he needed to try to be a positive thinker? Perhaps he could try analysing and imitating someone else, someone loved by everyone equally without question. Damian did not need to think twice, he immediately knew who checked that box.
It was Richard without a single doubt.
Dick Grayson (Richard):
-brilliant
-witty
-charming
-charismatic
-kind
-passionate
-skilled in practically every domain
To be frank, this was a list Damian had found about his brother on the internet, the rest, he wished he could forget. (It was filled with crazy fans adoring him.)
So he needed to be charming? Kind? Charismatic? How could he show them he wasn’t still a murderer, someone cold, arrogant, haughty? Damian needed to keep this facade, it’d be too weird if one day, he suddenly woke up relaxed, happy and clingy. It’d be pathetic, shameful for him. He was expected to be ruthless. Every nickname and adjective bore witness to that fact: “demon, brat, arrogant, mean, selfish, murderer, heartless… Terrorist…” Even if the last one was something he was called regularly at school. What qualified him as a terrorist? Did they know who he was? It didn’t make sense though… They weren’t smart enough to know.
Though he would never admit it, sometimes he wished he had the courage to show his real emotions. One day, he could just be hugged by someone and return it wholeheartedly.
Not today of course. Or tomorrow.
Emotion was weakness.
The next week, Damian started to indulge in the visioning of media, particularly shows and movies about family and love. He went through a few Disney movies, putting aside all the childishness, and to his surprise, he began to like them, even love them! Tangled, Dragon, Hercules, The Beauty and The Beast, Lilo and Stitch, and one of his favourite movies: Ne Zha. He could relate a lot with the boy that was created from evil but turned out to forge his own path to righteousness. Even if Damian hadn’t nearly reached that point yet.
One thing did pain him truthfully. It was the unconditional support they all were gifted. They all had a special someone, or family that loved them dearly. Maybe one day he’d find his Ao Bing, or his Megara, as weird as that sounded.
At night, Damian started to paint and draw. He could do anything, his skills had been extended to all domains by his Grandfather, but this time, he wanted to draw not by obligation or necessity. He wished to have… Fun.
So he painted, and painted, until he checked on his phone and it was already two AM, well past his bedtime. He sighed, a little disappointed to have to go to bed, but still satisfied by the progress accomplished. He smiled contently as he wrapped himself under the covers of his bed, the large painting of all his family and close friends, basking in the light of the moon crossing his window.
Something happened the next day, it was unpleasant.
“Have you used my credit card without authorization, Damian?!” Father accused, spiting venom at the boy sitting at the table surrounded by his entourage. “Damian, come here.”
And Damian did, abandoning his plate as the others scrutinized the scene with sadistic amusement. “Oooooh he’s in troubleeee!” Brown and Todd chanted. “Come on B, I did way worse when I was Robin back then.” Richard tried to atone. This did catch the attention of Drake and Thomas, clearly not believing what Grayson had said. “What, it’s true!” Richard insisted, crossing his arms and standing firmly on business. “Yeah, whatever you say golden boy.” Todd smirked, reeling in the feeling of annoyance he brought out of Richard. And they all went back to bickering among each other.
Damian was still being scolded, harshly reprimanded by Father. He did not want to understand, he never did. And why did he care? He was rich! The boy stayed eerily still as Bruce continued to hammer on that he needed to be responsible, that they had to trust him.
Something snapped when Father finally said, “you will be punished for breaking my trust, Damian.”
The boy stilled completely, until shaking started to rake his body, and he slowly descended to hit the ground on both knees. His head bowed, and the thud made every head turn. “What’s going on?” Dick asked, confused and slowly growing worried. The air tensed abruptly. Bruce seemed lost and as confused as they all looked. Every occupant of the house now focused their attention on the odd scene taking place before them.
“Father, I sincerely apologize. You may now p-proceed.” Damian stated mechanically, voice breaking at the end. His shoulders trembled, his eyes glassy and vacant. He was looking like he expected to be-
Bruce froze as realisation dawned on him. At that moment, he felt like the worst monster on this earth, and he was speechless.
“What do you mean buddy?” Dick tried softly, carefully approaching the kneeling boy. All now looked terribly worried. Something was wrong with the twerp.
But no one answered.
“Kid, you there?” Jason attempted. He felt like this reaction was frighteningly familiar. Something he had already experienced in the past.
“He’s dissociating.” Tim stated, like it was obvious and Cassandra agreed. She got up slowly before making her way to Bruce. “It looks like League conditioning.” She ushered sadly. Damian never once reacted.
“Jesus…” Tim whispered pitifully, already feeling the guilt dawning upon him. Sure, he teased the kid a lot but he was his brother. They had a rough start, but underneath all that pretence, he knew there was a kind boy. It showed, in the way he cared about animals and secretly made sure no one got hurt during patrol. He was a little shit sometimes but god… He did not deserve that.
“The kid’s ten and it looks like he’s already been through a lifetime of trauma. B, what did you say before he started to… you know.” Dick hesitated, not wanting to state the obvious.
“I said that he would be punished. It is completely reasonable. Something like helping Alfred in the chores…” Bruce explained carefully. He felt immensely guilty. His poor son had been through so much and he had to bring up a past he was sure was horrifying. It had to be, Bruce had already seen the scars adorning the boy’s body. He never knew these words would be so… Triggering.
“Father, I-I know I am in no position to be questioning your authority, but please, anything but isolation. I don’t want to be alone, I hate being alone, I hate it-” Damian spiralled, still deeply stuck in his trance.
At that moment, he felt all the rage a father could feel for his son having been so deeply wronged and hurt. His jaw tensed as his knuckles whitened. His kind, sweet Damian…
Everyone thought the same, it was heartbreaking to watch.
“Sweetheart, Damian, you’re not going to be punished like that. You’re never alone. We love you.” Bruce softly whispered to the boy as he went down to his level and wrapped his large, strong arms around the small frame of the trembling boy.
“Really?” Damian asked, so soft and desperate, that it made them all feel deeply sorrowful. Damian was only a child needing love, care, and trust and they all forgot it way too often, hidden underneath all these layers of arrogance and false meanness for a kid who never was taught to love and be kind. Who chose to teach himself to do good and stick to it. “Of course Damian.” Bruce mustered all his adoration in one sentence, he needed to get his point across. The effect was immediate. Water wet his shoulder and Damian whispered urgently, “p-please, take me to my room, I don’t want them to see…” It was shameful, it was embarrassing, it was not fit of an Al’Ghul, it felt good… It felt foreign.
Bruce took Damian to his room, tucking him in bed for the first time. He gave a small kiss on the top of the boy’s forehead, and his eyes widened, all watery and shiny, so, so vulnerable it broke the man’s heart. “Goodnight Damian,” He wished. “Goodnight Father,” He accepted, “...I love you,” he returned, smaller. “Me too bud.” But not small enough for Bruce.
The next day, Damian finished the painting, adding all the necessary details and applied a shiny coat of paint protection varnish. He smiled, tiny but genuine, when all the characters on the canvas shined brightly.
Too shy to stick around for reactions, Damian deposited the large painting in the living room, where everyone could see.
He went back to his room, cuddling tightly with Titus while he heard the joyous exclamations of his family as they discovered the large object. He smiled, big and proud, burying his face in the dog’s black fur as he heard all the compliments he received on his painting. He slowly lifted himself up to grab on to his diary, barely suppressing the joy coursing through his whole body. He opened a new page and wrote on the blank space:
Damian:
-good painter
-kind
-skilled in practically all domains
-altruistic
-smart
-resilient
-witty
-brilliant
Damian had an excellent day after that.